And then There Were Turkies
by WorldInvent
Summary: There are certain creatures that are native to the Underground and others that most ardently, not. A Thanksgiving wish results in yet another animal being introduced to the fae realm.


1

It was too big to be a chicken. The large feathered creature with a head that looked as if it had seen the underside of a wagon wheel or gone one too many rounds with a drunken troll (though perhaps it should be noted that trolls are hardly great fighters, there are not any wrestling, boxing, or mixed martial arts champs among them; but a drunken troll will thrash about quite wildly with its rock like build if one should mention anything demeaning about said troll's mother), its face was shades of bruised blue that appeared to have been stretched in a most unnatural way resulting in dangly bits. It sauntered down the hall ignoring the king.

Jareth, the Goblin King, scratched his head and watched it go. Surely the goblins had heeded his warnings about animal experimentation. It had been forbidden. He recalled with annoyance the parrot-cat of two years prior: instead of purring as a sign of affection the Parrat (as it came to be known) would rub against his best breeches and screech, "Ack! Parry want a mousey!" Half of the year the Parrat molted, while the latter part it shed uncontrollably. Following the spider-slug experiment turned fiasco, Jareth had made it quite clear to all of the science enthusiasts, magic meddling goblins that there was to be no more DNA tampering.

The feathered monstrosity made a strange gurgling/choking noise as it rounded the bend in the hall. The thought of performing the heimlich on the fowl made Jareth cringe. If it were indeed in distress the goblin responsible needed to tend to it. With a tap of his boot heel Jareth vanished.

He found himself in the underbelly of the castle. Corridors and rooms lingered in shadows, smelling dank and musty. Down here were the laboratories where the goblins performed their experiments in one medium or another. There was a whiff of hot metal that left a tangy, I-haven't-brushed-my-teeth-in-many-moons after taste as he pushed open the thick wooden door. Three long tables were erected in the center of the room, each bearing some mess or equipment that made sense only in goblin methodology. Four goblins were up to their eyebrows in said experiments (quite literally, as most of the experiments involved mucking about in huge heaps of trash, mud, and other congealing masses. It should also be noted here that a rather fitting demeaning term for a troll's mother would be to say she smells like laboratory mud).

Dingleworm was the first to acknowledge his presence, "Sire, you are just in time," said Dingleworm. He held up a medium sized cup. "I think I finally found the solution to removing the spider-slug slime from your bedroom pillows."

Jareth was not to be distracted- the feathered monstrosity could be part fire breathing dragon for all he knew (though he was very fond of his pillows; they had once been so soft, so subtle). "Dingleworm, what is the policy on animal experimentation?" he asked. Casually he leaned on a barely clean section of the table.

"Not to sire," replied Dingleworm dutifully. He smiled showing an array of vastly different shaped teeth. "Cook rewards us with donuts for every month no new creatures invade her kitchen."

Jareth smiled at the thought of those donuts- they were quite remarkable. Nearly remarkable as his pillows had once been. Suddenly there was a clatter and out from under the table a Parrat darted, cawing as it ran. Jareth fixed Dingleworm with a sharp stare.

Dingleworm sighed and yelled, "Fishhook!"

Across the room a goblin with blue horns looked over.

"Fishhook you did leave those fish well enough alone didn't you?" asked Dingleworm.

"Fish?" repeated Jareth, alarm growing. Did the beast swim?

"Fishhook did nothing wrong," replied the blue horned goblin, shaking his head vigorously. "No super-swimmers for Fishhook. Nope. Just a meager dinner instead." The goblin made his way towards his king in a limp-walk fashion. "Fishhook heeded king's warnings. Not stupid is Fishhook."

Jareth straightened himself. "Then why is there a giant feathered misfit roaming the castle? Can anyone here explain that?"

The whole room was now at attention, eyes fixed on their king, but not one showed any recognition. Everyone's interest piqued, it was decided that a search party be formed at once. Should the guard be informed? Did they need to arm themselves? Dingleworm (perhaps the smartest of the group) expressed concern over the safety of the other fowl inhabitants of the castle: a large, beastly stranger, he reasoned, could bully the other birds resulting in molting hens producing rotten eggs; or even worse yet what if this alpha fowl stirred up the others to lead some sort of rebellion? "The Talons Know Best"- it would result in a whole new pecking order.

All Jareth could do was shake his head in exasperation. Sensing some warped brand of anxiety building he said, "Man up you lot, or you will face the Bog of Eternal Stench!" This little pep talk concluded the four goblins (Dingleworm, Fishhook, Mudflap, and Bob) vanished with their king.

They reappeared in the hallway the monster had last been seen. Around the bend, the hallway gave way to a staircase that led down and to the right. Occasionally they found a discarded feather or droppings that were far too large. With each step Jareth's gut tightened until it felt as if he had eaten too many helpings of eye fungi stew; in a word, indigestion. This staircase led to the throne room.

It was the choking sound they heard first. Then there was a series of clucks and coos. Jareth and his goblins found a sort of fowl herum: chickens were sprawled around the throne room, while the obese monstrosity had set up roost on the royal throne.

"The uprising begins!" shrieked Mudflap, as she promptly passed out.

"This will never do!" exclaimed Jareth. His fingers twirled the air as he gathered magic. "Go on then!" He waved his arms threateningly. He made a final motion and drew forth a crystal, ready to the smite the beast off of his throne. In response the feathered creature puffed itself up and expanded, as if it were holding a good deal of air. It stared back at the king.

"Hold sire!" called Bob. "Don't hurt it!"

"What are you on about?" asked Dingleworm, who had managed to revive Mudflap.

"That," said Bob pointing at the roosting monster. "is not one of ours. I don't even think it belongs in the Underground."

The four goblins all exchanged glances and made their best attempts at looking contemplative. Mudflap rubbed the back of her head. "You don't think it has happened again?" she asked her companions. "Some forty years later!"

Jareth lowered his crystal. The hens rustled and rutted about as if sighing in relief. "No," he stated firmly. "Not again. I made sure of it."

"I am certain sire," said Bob, picking at his nose. "We've got ravens, sparrows, a couple of griffins lounging about, and yes, chickens, but this, this is new."

Fishhook bravely took some steps forward. He raised his head and sniffed the air. "Fishhook smell humans!"

Dingleworm sucked his mismatched teeth. "Again," he grumbled.

Jareth's stomach gurgled and his esophagus burned. The "again" that caused all of them to stop and reconsider their actions was something that Jareth was not looking forward to dealing with. The forty years incident was the onset of the Great Chicken Infestation (chickens are not native to the Underground. This incident was the result of an animal rights activist and a vegetarian walking down a country lane; no, there isn't a bad punch line. As a child the veggie-eater had been made privy to the ins and outs of being wished away to the Underground ℅ the Goblin King, and while there were a far number of threats about being turned into a goblin, it was all alot of hot air and blah, blah, blah formalities. A wished away was actually under the very strict care of the king. Why couldn't his animal loving friend save the local chickens from extra crispy humiliation by simply wishing them away? Moments later, an entire poultry farm had landed in Jareth's bailey). This incident had resulted in stricter wish guidelines and heavier wards around the realm to prevent anything that wasn't remotely homo-fill-in-the-appropriate-origins from being wished inside. Fishhook smelled humans and really there was only one human Jareth was on any remotely civilized terms with. Unfortunately they argued a lot. Still it was a starting point for the investigation. He clicked his boot heel.


End file.
